


Close Encounters

by Naughty_Yorick



Category: Megamind (2010)
Genre: Aliens, F/M, Secret Crush, Slightly suggestive, Tattoos, being cut out of clothes, roxanne is an alien fan-girl, wardrobe malfunction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:01:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28872747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naughty_Yorick/pseuds/Naughty_Yorick
Summary: Roxanne's hair is  a mess, her face is red, and staring at her in the mirror is the cheeky black outline of an alien face neatly tattooed across her ribcage. This will not do.Roxanne's always been interested in aliens. It's unsettling, then, that the object of her fascination is now part of her every day life in Metro City. Megamind doesn't need to know about it - about the films, about the tattoo - until they're stuck with a kidnapping related wardrobe malfunction and he finds himself coming face to face with undeniable proof of her unusual obsession. Unfortunately for them both,thiswardrobe malfunction requires two people to fix.
Relationships: Megamind/Roxanne Ritchi
Comments: 23
Kudos: 184





	Close Encounters

Look, Roxanne tells herself for the umpteenth time. You've always been into alien movies. 

Still, she can't help but feel a little weird as she slides the DVD into the player. But dammit, this is one of her favourite movies and has been since she was a kid so she's going to watch it and she isn't going to feel guilty about it. 

Much. 

The DVD whirs as she heads into the kitchen and throws a packet of popcorn into the microwave. It begins to hum as she moves upstairs, shrugging off of her blazer as she goes. 

Everyone has a weird obsession when they’re a teenager. It's expected. It's natural. She had friends who had gone through ghost hunting phases, tarot cards, cryptids. But none of those friends had found the object of their obsessions steadfastly following them into adulthood. Not literally, in any case. 

It had started when she was a kid and her dad had brought a VHS collection of some old Sci-Fi show at a yard sale. She was immediately hooked. Next she tore through _Star Trek,_ developing a deep fondness for the original series with its cheap sets and absurd acting. Her sisters thought she was mad, but she didn’t care. 

There were times when she felt like her closest friends were extraterrestrials, secret agents and time travelers. In fact, during the first few months in college, she'd spent more time than she was ever willing to admit alone, binge-watching episodes of _Doctor Who_ and _The X-Files_. They were comforting, like old friends, and they let her cling onto that hope - the hope of _what if._ What if there was something amazing out there, waiting for her. All she needed to do was reach out and find it. 

That all changed after she'd made friends - specifically, once her British roommate had realised that “going to the library” actually meant “watching Daleks try to destroy the world” and had insisted she move her binge sessions into their room. 

Soon, there were “I Want to Believe” posters above her bed. She saw every alien film that came out - and all the ones that had come before she was old enough to “get it”. She loved _Contact_ , with its promise of great, unimaginable things, and the _Alien_ series, even though she'd never been good with horror. She found herself drawn to the movies where the aliens weren't some unimaginable evil come to destroy the planet. There were enough things trying to destroy the planet as it was: panicking about some unknown alien threat felt redundant. 

_Avatar_ came out the year she graduated, while she was travelling. She and Fiona, the roommate, watched it in a tiny theatre in some small town in Florida. This was what Roxanne wanted - adventure, freedom, new worlds begging to be explored. She had blushed during the sex scene. Fiona teased her about that for weeks. 

It was just after _Avatar_ that she...well. She did what any graduate in their early 20s would do with a wad of birthday cash and an obsession. 

If someone asked now, someone from her new life in Metro City, she'd say that she “lost her mind”. She knows that she should be calling it a regrettable decision, blaming it on the folly of youth, but honestly...she doesn’t regret it all that much. If it ever came out, she’d spin some tale about being young, impressionable, stupid, and say that of course she regrets her choices. She’d add something about believing we should learn from our mistakes instead of pretending they didn’t happen. 

That would give her a good excuse not to get the damn tattoo covered up. 

Before she moved to Metro City, before she was Roxanne Ritchi: Reporter, she didn't really care. But in the city, plagued with its rather unique troubles, she realised some things were better left under wraps. She stopped wearing bikinis, only bought one-pieces, and avoided anything too low cut in the back or arm. She dodged the crop-top phase of 2018 like a pro. 

And now, standing upstairs in her room, finally free of her tailored-to-death work clothes, she lifts one arm and peers in the mirror at the little symbol that adorns her ribcage. It's about the size of a credit card, perhaps smaller, perfect for being hidden away and forgotten. She runs a finger over the black lines - it feels like it’s not even there. She wonders what everyone would say if they knew. She wonders what _he_ would say. 

But no one in Metro City will ever know. In fact, no one knows - no one apart from Fiona, and that was only because she needed someone to hold her hand and convince her that her bad idea might have actually been a pretty good idea. _He_ will certainly never know. 

The thought is… disappointing. 

The whole thing is disappointing, really. Here she is, living the reality of all those films and TV shows she loves so much, while being stuck in a normal job in a normal apartment doing… normal things. _Normal-ish_. 

She tries not to dwell on what sort of situation she would need to find herself in for Megamind to see it in the first place. She certainly isn’t going to start wearing crop-tops to work, and there’s only one other scenario in which him - or _anyone_ , for that matter - might catch a glimpse of her bare ribcage. 

She’s trying not to dwell on it. Trying, and failing. 

Fiona still teases her about blushing during _Avatar_. She’s never actually told her friend - her _best_ friend - about these new and lurid little imaginings, but she assumes Fiona knows regardless. She’s always been able to tell when Roxanne is crushing on someone. 

From downstairs, the microwave pings, breaking her out of her thoughts. She throws on a pair of leggings and a baggy sweater and heads back down. 

However weird her life may be, however guilty she feels about it - _Close Encounters_ is still an excellent film. 

An hour and a half later, she's curled up on the sofa, knees tucked up to her chin and the half-eaten popcorn abandoned beside her. 

Every time she watches this movie, she promises herself she isn't going to cry, but now it's nearly over and she can feel her eyes welling up. Even the five notes - the little tune they use to communicate with the aliens - is making her feel teary. She wipes her eyes with her sleeve and gives a noisy sniff. 

And Megamind bursts through the patio doors. 

~ 

_“Miss Ritchi, prepare to-”_

She's crying. She's sat on the sofa and she's crying and there's smudged makeup around her eyes and she looks so sad and— 

This is unprecedented. 

“Megamind!” She scrambles for the remote, pauses whatever it is she was watching and hastily wipes her eyes with her sleeve, smudging her make-up even more. “Sorry, I'm just…” 

She's blushing, now, and her eyes are red and watery. Evil Gods - what's happening? Has something terrible happened, did someone die, did…did she break up with her insufferable superhero boyfriend? 

“I...uh…are you...okay, Miss Ritchi?” 

She sniffs and wipes at her eyes again with an exaggerated blink, trying to quell the tears. 

“I'm fine! Really, I'm okay…” She stands up, “Uh...kidnapping?” 

Megamind peers at her. He furrows his brow. 

“Miss Ritchi, I have no intentions to kidnap you in this...in this state!” 

She seems insulted. “I mean, I was _going_ to go and fix my makeup, but—” 

“What? No! Obviously, you're _upset_ and…” 

And what? And he would never kidnap her if she was feeling vulnerable? That he'd never want to be the thing that pushes a ‘bad day’ into a ‘shit day'? That he's come to her apartment, just a few times, to find her weepy or upset or asleep and he's simply turned around and called the whole thing off? 

He doesn't need to finish that sentence, thankfully, because she cuts him off with a laugh, loud and jarring. 

“Upset? No, no: I'm not upset!” 

“But…” he gestures vaguely at her face, “the crying!” 

“Oh!” It's like she's only just realised that there's tears falling from her eyes, “No, it's just...this movie always makes me cry!” 

“Then...why watch it?” He asks, baffled. 

“Because it's one of my favourite movies,” she says with a laugh, “and, you know, the crying is kinda nice. It's cathartic.” 

“I… can't say I understand. Is this a human thing? I was under the impression that crying was bad? Something to be avoided?” 

“Hah! It's a _Roxanne_ thing. Loads of people watch movies that make them cry. Not everyone, I guess, but it's not _weird_ or anything.” 

“Uh-huh…” 

“It's not like it's because I'm sad,” she continues, fiddling with the sleeves of her jumper, “it's just...it’s happy, sort of, and bittersweet and emotional so it really… gets to me. Like I said, it's my favourite movie.” 

He isn't convinced. "You're crying because the movie is happy?" 

She nods. "I guess? It's not a traditional happy ending, but… it's important. To me." She trails off, and he can't help but notice a pale blush spreading across her cheeks. 

"What movie is it?" 

Now she looks downright panicked. 

“Look: I'm fine," She blurts out, the blush deepening, "let me run upstairs and put something more suitable on and then… kidnapping, right? That's why you're here, after all.” 

“O...kay?” She's dodging the question, but he finds himself drawn along by her enthusiasm, so simply nods lamely and watches her skip up the stairs. 

Finding himself alone in her apartment, he cautiously sits on the very edge of the couch and looks back to the TV. The remote lies next to him. Well, if she isn't going to tell him what she was watching… 

He flicks the movie back on. 

It's old - late 70s, he guesses. The scene playing appears to be some sort of military base, with personnel hurrying around in the dark. He hadn't pegged Miss Ritchi as a fan of military movies. He pulls the bowl of popcorn towards him and starts to absent-mindedly nibble on it when something unexpected appears on the screen. 

A spaceship. It's comical, really, and extremely typical of a human's understanding of spacecraft; a standard flying saucer, covered in blinking lights and flashing neons. It's not a shape particularly well suited to space travel; he should know, after all. 

He continues to watch, and now there's various humans milling about; some dressed in flight suits, some in variously inaccurate historical garb. There are reunions, apparently, between these people and those on the military base. 

So Roxanne is watching some sci-fi movie? That's… unexpected. And she's crying, too. Is she… scared? That would explain the crying; he's not sure about the physiology of so-called "happy crying" but is well aware that humans cry when afraid. He's seen it himself, many times. Did she lie to spare his feelings? A horrible pit opens in his stomach and he freezes, one hand hovering above the popcorn bowl. Is she scared… of him? 

It shouldn't be surprising. She _should_ be afraid of him. Not just because he's a villain who threatens to throw her to the piranhas every few days, but because… he's scary. He knows he is; he's so _other_ compared to the humans, even compared to Metro Man. It's natural to be scared of him. Watching scary movies isn't as strange as watching sad movies; he watches scary movies himself, although they very often fail to have the desired effect. 

Maybe he should just… leave. This, clearly, is why she was hesitant to tell him what she was watching. She didn't want him to know that the idea of an alien threat upset her so much. She's always being brave, needlessly brave. He turns away from the television and takes a deep, calming breath. 

_CRASH._

From somewhere upstairs comes an enormous bang and the distinct sound of glass shattering. 

He jumps up, sending the popcorn flying. All pretense that he might leave is gone, and before he’s thought about what he’s doing he’s leaping up the stairs and throwing the door to her room open and— 

Roxanne is standing in the middle of her bedroom, pieces of broken mirror scattered around her feet, her hair a wild halo around her head. 

“Megamind!” She flings out her hands - a gesture warning him not to come closer, not to step on the glass - and he realises that the dress she must have just put on is still open, revealing far, far more of her skin than he’s ever seen before. He can see her _bra_. He swallows, feeling his ears getting hot. 

“Ah! I’m sorry; I heard the crash, I thought…” 

And then he spots it. 

~ 

Roxanne grabs her new deep purple dress out of the wardrobe then sets to work on fixing her smudged makeup. With horror, she realises that she didn't turn the TV off; just paused the DVD. Which means he could sit down, means he could see what she was watching, see what was making her cry…he's going to think she's completely insane. He's going to think she's some creepy alien fan-girl. She wouldn't be at all surprised if she goes downstairs and finds the DVD playing and the apartment empty. She makes a mental note to hurry. 

Makeup fixed, she pulls off the sweater and yanks the purple dress over her head. She tugs at the zip underneath her arm, and— 

It catches on the fabric. 

_Shit._

She tugs again, but the zipper is caught and it won't budge. She tries to pull it down, but that makes it worse. She swears under her breath, aware that she's wasting time, and decides to abandon the dress. She tries to pull it up over her head, but it barely gets over her chest, and the design means there’s no way she can wriggle it down over her knees. 

_Shit shit shit._

She pulls back into a reasonable position and catches herself in her mirror. Her hair’s a mess, her face is red, and staring at her in the mirror is the cheeky black outline of an alien face neatly framed between the two sides of her dress. 

This will not do. 

There’s a pair of nail scissors sat on her dressing table. She could just...cut the dress off. But it’s basically brand new, and it cost so much money: way more than she’d ever usually spend on a dress. And it’s a _nice_ dress. 

Okay, no. Cutting it off is the last resort. 

She hops around the room, desperately tugging at the zip, muttering under her breath - _come on, come on…_

It moves. Just a fraction. _Yes, yes!_ She gives it one huge tug - but it’s stuck again, and totally off-balance she stumbles backwards and crashes into the mirror which topples over and smashes, the glass shattering and skittering across the floor. She freezes. _Fuck._

He's there in seconds. He comes bursting into the room in an obvious panic and she throws out her arms to stop him stepping on the glass – a pointless gesture, she realises, as he's wearing those damn leather boots. 

He's there, standing in the doorway, breathing heavily and panic in his eyes and for a moment, neither of them say anything. He just… stares. And then, suddenly, he seems to realise that he's staring. 

“Ah! I’m sorry; I heard the crash, I thought…” 

He stops. His eyebrows twitch. His mouth hangs open around a half-finished sentence. 

He’s seen it. There’s no way he hasn’t seen it. She could just… ignore the situation. Pretend she has no idea why he's suddenly found himself speechless, pretend there's absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about the few inches of skin currently on show. 

“I… the dress… the zip’s caught,” she hazards, “I tried to get it up and I… fell. Into the mirror.” 

He blinks. “Oh. Right.” 

“I… ah… I’m kinda stuck, actually.” 

"Oh?" 

Roxanne sighs, knowing what she’s going to have to do next. "Look…" She says, "This is… I know this is weird but…" _Oh god, oh god,_ "… Can you… help?" 

"… help?" His voice is suddenly very small, very quiet. 

She can feel her own face flushing now. "It's just… It was a really expensive dress and right now my only other option is to use my nail scissors to cut it off and I… I really don't want to do that. If I can help it." 

"But… ah… you want _me_ to help?" 

She shrugs. "If… if it's not weird?" She spots the look on his face, and suddenly starts backpedaling. "I mean, you don't have to. It's… it's fine, I can probably figure it out myself…" 

He swallows, heavily, then takes a cautious step forwards. An unseen shard of glass cracks beneath his boots and he winces - they both wince. 

“So, the - the zip?” He hazards, and she can see where his ears are turning purple, the colour spreading across his cheekbones. 

She nods silently, sure that if she actually speaks she’ll say something to only further incriminate her, and raises her arm, giving him access to the zip. He edges forwards, cautiously at first, then when it's clear she isn't going to jump away, with a little more certainty. He gently takes each side of the dress in his fingers and examines the fabric where the zip is stuck. The little alien - just three lines of black ink, indelible on her skin - peers back at him. He doesn’t say anything. Neither does Roxanne. 

"The fabric here is caught in the zip," he mutters, finally, "we need to fix that…" 

He pulls the two sides together again, aligning the zip, then gives it a tug. To Roxanne's shock, it moves; but not far enough. 

“I need to..” He huffs through his nose, concentrating, “I need to get a closer look. Do you… I mean, can I..?” 

Roxanne nods, silently, and then gently - oh so gently - he’s moving the fabric around to see where it's bunched in the zip. His fingertips - just his fingertips - brush against her skin. It sends a little shiver down her spine, making her heart race. 

“It’s caught, here…” 

He starts to fiddle with something - he’s too close for Roxanne to tell what, trying desperately to ignore the feeling of his fingers fluttering against the sensitive skin. He gives the zip another, cautious tug down - but it doesn’t move at all. He makes a little annoyed noise that’s almost cute. 

“Um,” Roxanne begins, feeling a little silly, “is it…” 

“Completely defective?” 

She smiles. “I was going to say ‘fucked’, but - sure. Is it defective? Completely?” 

He laughs. He actually laughs, and the sound only furthers the flush creeping up her neck. 

“Well…” 

“Shit.” 

“You mentioned something about… scissors?” 

Roxanne groans, instinctively moving away a little as she buries her head in her hands. “Fuck.” 

He laughs again - which still sends her reeling - but doesn’t let the dress go, still peering at the zip. 

“Actually…” 

“What?” 

“Well, I mean - I’m no stranger to, you could say… clothing malfunctions. If you can cut this along the seams, rather than where the fabric is caught… it’s salvageable, certainly.” 

“Salvageable? Megamind, I can barely sew a button…” 

“Oh, no! I meant… that is, if you want to…” 

“... if I want to what?” 

He takes a breath. “I’m sure Minion would be more than happy to assist. He’s bored of capes and spikes, though he would never tell me that, of course.” 

Roxanne blinks. “Minion?” 

“Oh, yes, quite the tailor.” 

“You’re telling me that Minion makes all your… your capes, and suits, and things?” 

“Well; yes! Of course! Who else would? I may be brilliant in most ways, Miss. Ritchi, but textiles are a little out of my grasp.” 

Roxanne thinks. “I thought you just, I don’t know, had some sort of… Supervillain store you got all this stuff.” Saying it out loud, it sounds catastrophically stupid. “...Online, maybe?” She hazards. 

“Hah! No, that would be far too easy. And far too traceable! No, Minion is more than capable… and, yes. He should be able to fix the dress. I mean. If you want him to - I understand, that might be somewhat odd?” 

“No, I… Like I said, it was an expensive dress…” 

“Well, then.” He takes a step back. “Where are the scissors?” 

Roxanne takes stock, for a moment. She truly doesn’t want to ruin the dress… but surely this is a step too far. The film she can wave off, the tattoo cannot be ignored - no matter how hard they’re both trying - but giving Megamind her dress? So his henchman can repair it? It’s a step towards… 

Towards _something_. She doesn’t know what. She _wants_ to know what. She thinks of the tattoo, of twenty-something-year-old Roxanne, her obsession with things beyond her world. She wonders what that woman would say if she saw her like this: in her bedroom, alone, with an alien man offering to cut her out of her dress. 

_Oh, to hell with it._

“On the dresser,” she says, gesturing towards it with her head. 

“Right.” 

He picks his way across her room, avoiding the glass that still litters the floor, and finds the scissors amongst the mess of toiletries, make-up and various bits of junk on top of the dresser. Her heart is beginning to thunder in her chest, her fingers twitching nervously at her side. 

He grabs the scissors, fiddling with them, snipping them open and shut. 

“This will be easier if…” he mutters, and then, as Roxanne watches, he places the scissors back down and begins to remove his gloves. 

Roxanne swallows as the black leather slides away to reveal long, slim blue arms. She realises, all at once, that she’s never actually seen him without his gloves on. It feels lewd, almost. Wrong. She resists the urge to avert her eyes, as if he’s undressing in front of her. 

The first glove is removed and he flexes his slender blue fingers before moving to the other. She realises with a start that she’s staring, and quickly looks away, hoping he won’t notice the heat creeping up her neck. 

When the act - dull yet obscene - is finally over, he picks up the scissors once more and walks to her side, taking another look at the fabric, looking for the best seam to cut. 

“Here…” he says, and Roxanne can’t tell if she’s talking to himself or to her, “I can cut below the zip, then I can cut through the fabric of the zip itself, as that will need to be replaced anyway…” 

His fingers play on the seams, the touch feather-light. He peels back the fabric again to better see the zip, and Roxanne can see the focus on his face. She rarely sees him like this - not up close, anyway - when he’s given a task to fixate on. 

“Is that okay, Miss. Ritchi?” 

She blinks. She’s barely been paying attention - too distracted by watching him work, by his skin on hers. 

“I… yes?” 

“Good. Okay, hold still: I don’t want to stab you…” 

She snorts. “That makes a change.” 

He freezes, then straightens himself so he can look her in the eye. He takes a moment - like he’s composing himself - before speaking. 

“Miss Ritchi—” 

“Roxanne.” 

“What?” 

“Call me Roxanne. Please. Considering the circumstances it only seems right.” 

He looks at the scissors in his hand, then to her dress, then back to her face. “If anything,” he says, “this seems like a circumstance in which I should be calling you _Miss Ritchi_.” 

“We’ve known each other for too long for you to call me Miss Ritchi, Megamind. It’s fine.” 

“I’m don’t thi—” 

“It’s _fine_.” He looks chastised - almost hurt. Guilt bites at her. “Sorry. I… you were going to say something?” 

“It’s irrelevant.” 

“No, it’s not. What was it?” 

“Miss - ah - _Roxanne_. If you’re uncomfortable with me being here… I can go. It’s fine. I’m sure you’re capable of this,” he gestures at the scissors in his hand, “yourself. You can just… leave the dress somewhere and I’ll have a brainbot pick it up later. Or not, if you’d prefer.” 

She frowns. “Megamind, I _asked_ you for help.” 

“Yes, but… you can change your mind. Tell me to leave. I don’t want you to think…” he trails off. 

“Think what?” He doesn’t respond. “Think _what_ , Megamind?” 

“That I’m a threat.” 

“What?” 

"When you left I… I turned the movie back on." He says it like a confession. Roxanne’s stomach drops. _Shit_. 

"Ah…" She chews her lip, "Look, I can explain…" 

He shakes his head. "You don't need to explain anything, Miss Ritchi. I understand." 

"You… you do?" 

"It's… understandable. The way you… ah… the way you feel." 

This is _not_ what Roxanne is expecting. "You don't think I'm, you know. Weird? Or… creepy?" 

He frowns. “I… what? No, no of course not. It’s… it’s only natural. I mean... ” He appears to be thinking, choosing his words carefully, “Considering what you’ve been… what I’ve put you through…” He rubs his hands together, nervously. “I understand.” 

She blinks. “What?” She’s starting to feel like a stuck record. 

“You don’t have to pretend, Roxanne. You don’t have to lie to me. And you don’t have to be brave, either.” 

Roxanne has no idea what he’s talking about. “Brave?” She repeats, weakly. 

He sighs, like she’s being deliberately obtuse. “I saw what you were watching. And, honestly, you claim that you were happy, or… or something, but I saw how upset you were, too. And… humans get upset when they're worried, or sad, or…” he looks away, looks at the floor, “scared.” 

And then it all clicks into place - his hesitance, his uncertainty, the way he’d balked when she’d joked about him not stabbing her. For the second time, she feels horribly guilty. Guilty, but - confused. Almost amused. How could he possibly think she was scared of him when he can see the evidence of her borderline obsession staring him in the face? 

“I don’t…” she starts, unsure, “Megamind, how… Why would I…” She stutters, tripping over her own words. "We can't… You can't just…" She starts wringing her hands in the air, "You can't just say that, while ignoring the… the fucking _elephant_ in the room!" 

Megamind seems unfamiliar with the phrase. It pulls him out of whatever thought he was having. "The what now?" 

"The… oh, Jesus Christ, Megamind. The fucking…" She raises her hands to cover her face, her palms pressed against her eyes. "The tattoo!" She sighs, finally. "We both know you've seen it. I promise you, Megamind, I’m not scared of you. I’m not… trying to be brave, or spare your feelings. But how could you stand there, and see it, and still think that?” 

“Well, ah - coping mechanisms, you know, and…” 

She raises her eyebrows. “And?” 

He sighs. “And… and the piece is fully healed, but the ink shows signs of spread. There’s patchiness, a sign of wear, where your clothes rub against it, which is typical of a piece that’s roughly…” he does a quick calculation, “ten years old? Give or take?” 

She stares at him, dumbstruck, and he continues. 

“You could have gotten the tattoo itself several years ago, before… all this, but haven’t been able to have it covered since coming to Metrocity. That would make sense, of course, as you’re _you_ , and if word got out that you had… this tattoo, even if it was an old tattoo, then that would be… well, it wouldn’t be particularly good for your public persona, I think we can both agree.” 

“I… yeah.” 

“So.” He folds his arms across his chest like he’s just won the argument, “Like I said. There’s… an explanation. If one is needed.” 

Roxanne chews on her lip. “That’s not… that’s not it, though. That’s not why I’ve not gotten it covered. I mean - there’s other cities out there, you know. I could have gone to another state…” 

“I… suppose.” 

“I’m not… all these things you think about yourself, Megamind, they’re not—” she suddenly realises she’s about to be horribly offensive, considering his career choices, and attempts to reign herself in, “You _are_ scary. Sometimes! But it’s not because you’re an alien, it’s because of, you know, the death-rays and the laser guns and the continual attempts to kidnap me and take over the world! And even _then_ , Megamind, even _with_ all of that… I still trust you.” 

“... Oh.” 

“And, honestly? The tattoo? I can’t stand acting like it isn't there and like it isn't super weird, so if you're gonna say something or…" She swallows, "… or realise that I'm a complete lunatic and leave, then…do it now. Get it over with." 

“You’re a lunatic?” 

“I - well - well, yes! Probably!” She throws her hands into the air in frustration. “Megamind, you walked in on me sobbing because of a movie about aliens, and then - as if you needed further proof that I’m mad - discovered that I have an alien tattoo!” 

“It is a little…” 

“A little what? Weird? Creepy? I swear, Megamind, I never came to Metro City expecting this to happen, if that’s what you’re—” 

“...Flattering.” 

She chokes back whatever she was about to say next, the words suddenly forgotten. She feels her face turn red. 

“Roxanne, I… I’ve been here - here on Earth, I mean - since I was a baby. It’s all I’ve known. And being like me…” he still has the scissors in his hands, and he begins to fiddle with them. “People are scared. Disgusted. Confused, angry, horrified… They see the head, and the skin, and the eyes, and, _shit…_ ” he chuckles, and Roxanne realises this is the first time she’s heard him swear, “and all the things that come with my biology that virtually _no one_ knows about, and... perhaps they’re right to be scared. I’m not normal. I understand that.” 

“But you’re not—” 

“But I am. I don’t fit in, certainly not like your perfect boyfriend does. I’ve come to peace with that. That’s why I’m here, after all. It’s why I do what I do.” 

There’s too much to unpack there - too much raw truthfulness - but Roxanne hooks on to the one thing she knows isn’t true. 

“He isn’t…” She pauses. May as well spill all the secrets. “He isn’t my boyfriend.” 

This seems to hit him harder than the sudden revelation that she’s a secret alien fan-girl. “He what?” 

“He’s not my boyfriend. Honestly, I don’t want him to be, either. He’s annoying. Don’t tell him I said that," she adds, quickly. 

“But—” 

“I also don’t want to talk about it,” she says, as Megamind gapes at her, utterly lost. “You can ask me later. Okay? Not today.” 

“I… yes. Okay. Yes.” 

“What were you saying?” She prompts, softly, “before I uh… before I told you my second biggest secret?” 

He shakes his head, with a small laugh. “I was saying… I know that I’m alien. People are scared of me. But…” 

“But?” 

“... it was worse. Thinking that you were, too. Not because of the death threats and the traps and the kidnappings, but because of… of me.” 

Roxanne smiles. “Well… I don’t. The opposite, really. Is it… is it weird?” 

“That depends.” 

“On?” 

“On who you ask. I assume… no one else knows about the tattoo?” 

“No one apart from the person who came with me when I got it,” she says, shaking her head. 

“And they’re..?” 

“She’s good at keeping secrets. And lives three and a half thousand miles away. She won’t tell anyone.” 

“Right.” 

He looks unsure, and she feels awkward, exposed, just standing there. “You’re sure it’s not creepy? Or… disrespectful? I don’t want it to be, I don’t know… offensive? When I got it I wasn’t exactly planning on meeting any actual aliens…” 

That makes him smile. “No, I suppose you weren’t. It’s fine. Did you… did you _want_ to meet actual aliens?” 

“Well, _yes_ ,” she says, “but I never anticipated one being so… close.” 

He smiles, and she bites her lip. There’s a soft pause - not awkward, not stilted. Just there. 

“Oh!” He says, suddenly remembering, “Your dress - do you still need me to…” 

“Oh! Right!” She shakes herself out of the comfortable thought, trying to ground herself back in the present, “Yes, if that’s okay?” 

“Yes, right…” 

She’s struck with a thought. “Wait!” 

He freezes, immediately. “Yes?” 

“I assume you were here to kidnap me?” 

He looks a little surprised. 

“Well, yes, that was rather the point of bursting in through the top-floor balcony. However…” he peers at his watch, which lights up in neon blues as he raises his wrist, “I fear the time window may have passed…” 

Roxanne raises her eyebrows. “There was a time window? What were you even planning?” 

He lowers his wrist and straightens his back, smugly. “Roxanne, really. You’ll have to wait and see. It’s easily rearranged.” 

She rolls her eyes at the familiar, easy banter but doesn’t comment on his stubbornness. 

“Fine,” she says. “Um. Do what you need, then.” 

She gestures vaguely and he approaches once more. Roxanne finds herself holding her breath as his hands hover above the dress. This time, he doesn’t speak, just begins to work at the stuck fabric. He pulls the zip aside and she bites back a gasp as the cool metal of the scissors glides across her skin. Megamind goes still, for a second, clearly reacting to her instinctual response. 

“Perhaps…” He’s muttering to himself, one hand still holding the zip, the other the scissors. He’s close enough that Roxanne can feel his breath on her skin. She hopes he can’t see the goosebumps that are raising on her arms, glad he can’t hear the way her heartbeat is absurdly picking up. 

He’s never been so close. 

And then, instead of pressing the edge of the scissors to her ribcage like he’d done before, he plucks at the fabric, pulls it away, and slides two fingers beneath it, his skin brushing - pressing - against the sensitive skin below. 

Roxanne’s skin is on fire. Every inch of her - from the place where Megamind’s fingers are pushed against her skin to the tips of her fingers - is suddenly alert, tingling. Until now, she’d been happy enough to push any lingering thoughts of him to the back of her mind, to pretend it was nothing more than a foolish infatuation - like being a teenager again. But now she can’t ignore it, and she can’t pretend her body isn’t reacting to his touch, that she isn’t lighting up from the inside. 

He begins to work, cutting through the fabric of the zip, using his fingers to protect Roxanne’s skin from the blades. He moves slowly, meticulously, avoiding the expensive fabric of the dress. As he moves lower, Roxanne can feel her heartbeat in her wrists, in her neck. The end of the zip is nestled in the curve of her hip, and his hands are drifting ever-lower. She wonders if he too is silently panicking, if he’s holding his breath like she is, standing deliberately still, too far into the task to stop now. 

Neither of them speak - him working, her watching - and soon his hand is resting against her side, the heel of his hand leaning lightly against her hip and his fingers still held to her skin. The moment when he cuts away the bottom of the zip, snipping into the thick material in sharp right angles, lasts an age. She’s desperately aware of how close he is, how if he only moved a little further south his fingers would be slipping beneath the soft satin fabric of her underwear. 

That thought sends a hot little rush to her core, and there’s a tightness in her stomach. She flexes her free hand - the one facing away from him - trying to distract herself. It would not do to throw herself at her would-be kidnapper. 

And then it's over, and he’s moving back up, silently slicing through the material. He cuts through the final few inches and - with a low, long sigh - leans back, the destroyed zip in one hand and the scissors in the other. Roxanne quickly grabs the sides of the dress, holding it together, trying to retain at least a modicum of dignity. 

Her face must be scarlet, she knows, her breathing heavy. His breathing is odd too - she was right, she realises: they were both holding their breath. 

Finally, Megamind backs away, and she can properly look at him. She wants to say - wants to _do_ \- but she doesn’t know what. Before she can move, he speaks. 

“There. You should be able to, um…” He’s blushing furiously, twisting the zip around his naked fingers. “That is…” 

She’s not used to him like this. Usually he’s in control, sure of himself and what he’s doing next, even when his plans have failed and his inventions are burning around him. But now he’s stuttering and hesitant, utterly unsure. 

Roxanne attempts to take control of the situation, despite feeling as flustered as he looks. 

“Thank you,” she mutters, and her faux confidence falters almost immediately, making her voice sound low and hoarse. She clears her throat and tries again. “I… thanks.” 

She wonders what he’d do if she asked him to stay, what he’d do if she simply pulled off the dress right in front of him, what he’d do if she kissed him. 

She doesn’t do any of those things. 

“I’ll just get changed,” she says, trying to keep her voice even, “and you… can wait downstairs?” 

“Yes! Yes, I will… do that. Yes.” 

His eyes are wide, pupils expanded and dark, ears purple. He heads back to her dresser, putting down the scissors and picking up the gloves. As he moves back to the door, he steps on a shard of glass that crunches loudly beneath his boot, making them both jump. The sound seems to startle him, and he dashes from the room. She can hear him thundering down the stairs. 

As soon as he’s gone, she sighs, relaxing. That was… new. She wants to chase the feeling, but fear gnaws at her. What if she read him wrong - what if his reaction to their closeness was just concern. He’d seemed anxious enough when they’d been speaking, worried that she was scared of him: it would make sense if he’d spent the past ten minutes paralysed with fear, not with the excitement currently flowing through her _own_ veins. 

She shuffles out of the dress, carefully pulling it over her head and placing it down on the bed. She moves between the shards of mirror that still litter the floor and grabs the sweater and leggings she’d thrown off earlier, tugging them back on quickly, trying not to let herself think about doing anything rash. She slips on her slippers to better protect the soles of her feet from the glass, grabs the now destroyed dress and then, after another deep breath to steady herself, follows Megamind downstairs, intending to find the dustpan so she can clear up the glass. 

To her surprise, Megamind is already using it - or rather, a brainbot is using it, darting around her living room and sweeping up spilt popcorn while making happy little beeping noises. 

“Ah…” 

Megamind and the brainbot both spin to look at her. Megamind is looking a little guilty. His gloves, she notes with disappointment, are back on his hands. The absurdity of the little scene is enough to break her from her thoughts. 

“What happened?” 

“There was an… accident. When I heard the crash, I came running…” 

“And spilled my popcorn all over the floor?” 

“Something like that.” 

She shakes her head. This, somehow, is the least unusual thing that’s happened to her today. The brainbot, now finished with its job, floats past her with a nod and a _bowg_ , then deposits the popcorn in the trash can in her kitchen. She can’t help but watch, fascinated, as it hovers back towards Megamind, ready for the next instruction. 

“Well done, number fifteen!” He coos, patting the brainbot on its glass domed head like it’s a well-behaved puppy, “Very nice. Now, I need you to go up to Miss Ritchi’s room to clear up some smashed glass. Understood?” 

The brainbot bounces in the air a couple of times, then zooms up the stairs, still trilling. Megamind spots Roxanne’s expression. 

“It’s perfectly safe,” he says, “don’t worry.” 

“Actually,” she says, “I was going to tell you off for calling me ‘Miss Ritchi’ again.” 

“Oh, that?” He laughs, “No, that’s just programming. They’re - ah - programmed to respond to certain names. You’re hard-wired into the code as ‘Miss Ritchi’, I’m afraid.” 

“Really? Why me?” 

“Well, you spend more time around them than anyone else, other than myself or minion. Makes kidnappings go smoother, you know. Less likely to… ah… target the wrong person.” 

“Has that happened?” 

“Nearly happened. Once.” 

She frowns. She doesn’t like the thought of him kidnapping someone else, and it has nothing to do with concern for some poor unsuspecting soul who doesn’t know him like she does. 

“Right,” she’s unsure of what else to say. “So, ah…” 

There’s another crash from upstairs, and then the Brainbot returns, the dustpan full of shards of mirror. They both watch as it quickly tosses the glass into the trash can, then zooms back upstairs. 

“I should go…” 

“You can stay—” 

They speak at the same time, cutting one another off. 

“If you want—” 

“I mean, if you’ve got somewhere to be—” 

They both fall quiet. On the TV, the credits of the film are silently playing. Roxanne grabs the remote and pauses the DVD, then twiddles it in her hands, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. 

“I don’t…” Megamind starts, voice quiet. Roxanne turns, and he tries again. “I don’t have somewhere else to be.” 

“Okay. So…” 

“Ah… what _was_ it? The film?” He gestures at the TV. 

This is ground Roxanne is more familiar with. “Oh! It’s, ah, _Close Encounters of the Third Kind._ ” 

He doesn’t seem to recognise the name. She frowns. 

“From the 70s? Alien abduction, flying saucers, you know…” she hums the little five-note tune, “dah-dah-dah-bum- _bum_.” 

“And it’s your favourite?” 

She wiggles her shoulders in a so-so way. “One of them.” 

“Are _all_ your favourites about, ah…” He falters, falling silent. 

Roxanne finishes the sentence for him. “Aliens?” 

He nods, silently. 

“At the risk of sounding like a weird fan-girl,” she says, slowly, “...yes.” 

He doesn’t look _scared_ , at least. 

“If you like,” she says, quickly, before she can change her mind, “and it’s not too weird… stay. And we can watch one. Together. If that’s not…” 

“Something a weird fan-girl would say?” 

She feels herself blush. “I was _going_ to say ‘uncomfortable for you’, but… yeah.” 

“Well I…” 

He hesitates, and in the moment of silence the Brainbot appears again. It makes that trilling little noise at them both again, before disposing of the last of the glass, dropping the dustpan and hovering expectantly in front of its master. Megamind seems to take advantage of its sudden reappearance. 

“What a good little bot you are!” He says, once more petting it on the top of its glass dome, the lights inside flashing. “Well done!” 

It _bowgs_ again, its long metal legs twisting in the air, claws grabbing at nothing. 

“I…” Roxanne watches. Megamind sets his shoulders - he appears to have made a decision. “Daddy’s got some more work to do here, okay? You go home, and tell Minion not to wait up.” 

The Brainbot chirps. 

“Yes, yes, I know what he’s like. Tell him it's fine. Oh, and one more thing…” 

He takes the ruined dress from Roxanne’s unresisting hands and passes it to the bot, who takes it gently in its metallic claws. 

“Give this to Minion, alright? Tell him I’ll explain later.” 

The Brainbot spins, and then it _wooshes_ away, out the still-open balcony door and away across the city. 

“So…” Now he’s made a decision, he seems very certain - there’s swagger back in his step. “Which would you recommend?” He says, lowering himself down onto the couch. 

He _talks_ confidently, but Roxanne can’t help but note how close to the edge he’s sitting - how unused he is to this sort of casual friendliness. It’s like he’s anticipating that she’ll kick him out at any moment. 

“Let me think...” she turns away from him, back towards the kitchen, where she reaches into the cupboard and grabs another bag of popcorn, throwing it into the microwave. 

She mentally skims through her favourite films, wondering what might be best. And then… 

But no, she _can’t_. She _shouldn’t_. 

She peers over her shoulder at the alien man sitting on her couch, legs crossed, fingers twitching on the armrest. It wasn’t so long ago that those fingers had been pressed to her skin, gently tracing down her ribcage, cool and soft and _tempting_. 

_...Fuck it._

The microwave pings. She grabs the popcorn, along with another bowl, and strides towards the couch. 

“Tell me...” she says, handing him the bowl and popcorn then reaching towards her little collection of DVDs. “Have you ever heard of _Avatar_?” 

Megamind pauses, pouring the popcorn into the bowl. “I can’t say I have.” 

Roxanne prays that she isn’t blushing. “Well, then,” she says. “Let’s start there.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! This has been sat in my WIP folder for over a year... I am sorry D:


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